Boggart Fantasies
by J.J. the hinkypunk
Summary: The Slytherins have their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin. Draco Malfoy wonders what shape his boggart will assume. SLASH. Read at your own risk.
1. A Discovery

BFFF

Hi there! Here's my little ficcie-poo. It's slashy. I _tried_ not to write slash, but I couldn't help it. sweatdrops This is a really weird fic, I don't know where it came from. It's not meant to be serious. This is my first fic, blame it on my muse, Rupert, who has absconded to Hawaii on the occasion of me posting this. He swears he had nothing to do with this thing.   
  
Note: Draco POV, takes place amidst the third book--the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit. The author does not take responsibility for any side effects produced by this fic.  
  
Boggart Fantasies  
By J.J. the hinkypunk  
  
They must have been kidding me.   
  
After sitting down in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and engaging in the gossip of the day (we were still amused by Harry's fiasco with the Dementor on the train) our stumbled in. That garbage can of a person was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Pretty damn funny. His robes were tattered and faded, his face wary, he was a disgrace. I'd given up on Hogwarts. Maybe father will let me transfer to Durmstrang.  
  
The gave the Slytherin third years the usual boring intro--his name and all that crap. Honestly, I wasn't paying attention. Then it was off to some room in the castle to practice defeating a boggart. What a _challenge_. Couldn't we at least do something useful? Guess not.  
  
I wondered for a few moments, What scares me the most? I couldn't think of anything. Well, I suppose I was being dishonest to myself, because, in all truth, one thing came to mind that would nearly have me shrieking. Harry Potter. Sure, I'm a bastard to him all the time because it's _fun. _But when I think about it, he's a damn good seeker. And loosing to him would kill me. Maybe it isn't him I fear, maybe it's loosing I fear. Maybe one day, my little scrawny rival will outdo me.   
  
No, Draco, don't think like that. You're better then he.   
  
A smile crossed my face. I'd never lose to Potty.  
  
My mind raced through a tangled web as the instructed our class as to how one should defeat the boggart. What shape would it assume when it got to me? What if it _was_ Potty? I'd be the laughingstock of the school. They'd say, What kind of bully fears his victims? or Malfoy is such a fake. That's it, I would have to resort to hiding behind Crabbe and let someone else deal with the boggart. Good idea, I said to myself.  
  
The boggart was fought as I danced away from Lupin, trying to avoid fighting the damn thing. Goyle was up now, and the boggart took the form of a werewolf. I could have sworn Lupin winced and muttered under his breath. Goyle's voice echoed through the room as he shouted, The werewolf howled and whined, and with a crack, it was reduced to a small, tail- wagging puppy. He grunted in satisfaction as the boggart dog moved on to Millicent Bulstrode and took the form of a giant, which almost shattered the ceiling when it stood up and bumped his great ugly head.  
  
Within minutes, half the class had gone through with the boggart, and, to my triumph, I needed not step up. Pansy Parkinson was the last to fight the boggart before it was diminished to thousands of tiny gray smoke wisps. Lupin dismissed the class. Crabbe, Goyle, and I walked through the corridor to our next class, talking about Lupin's lack of qualification to teach and the easy defeat of a boggart.  
  
The day went on as any normal day would. After dinner, we went to the Slytherin common room to finish up our homework, but something was still plaguing me. I needed to know what form the boggart would assume when he saw me. It was one of those things that lingers in my mind until I get to the bottom of it. So I did just that.  
  
Once the common room emptied out, I made my move. I disguised my face with some extra cloth I had left over from Madam Malkins', and sneaked furtively out of the Slytherin house. The halls of Hogwarts were shadowed by the silver moonlight, but it was just dark enough so that I probably couldn't be seen at a distance. With a small incantation, , I allowed my wand to guide me in the direction of any boggart in the castle.   
  
I extended my arm, holding my sleek wand before me. There was just light enough to see it's cylindrical shape. I followed it through--what seemed at the time--all of Hogwarts. There was one occasion when the wand led me straight into a table. I shoved my shin into one wooded leg, but restrained myself from crying out in spite of the table's little murder attempt. The table was knocked over with a thud. I stopped moving, my heart seemed to be beating right out of my chest. It could have exploded. If I were caught, that would be it for me. I had no scapegoat, but surely I could think of one.   
  
I slid my eyeballs back and forth in the corners of my eyes, making sure nobody was coming. After several minutes of ceasing to breath or move, I decided the coast was clear. I stuck my wand out again and followed in pursuit. Through a series of panels, I was guided up to what looked like an unused closet of some sort. I lit my wand so I could see. There were several broomsticks, a few chains of some sort, and a round box, which shook and rattled violently on the dusty floor.   
  
I blinked and bent over to pick up the round box. Any second now and my boggart would be released. I decided to open it at once, rather then allow myself to think about what would be inside. I peeled the box open with my fingertips and dropped it hastily to the ground as the boggart emerged.  
  
As I had suspected, the boggart morphed into Harry Potter. No question about it--there was no mistaking those corrosive green eyes that pierced through the world like a pair of toxic emeralds blinding me beneath ugly round glasses, or that greasy black hair mopped in disarray upon his head, or that pale, lurid scar centered on his forehead. I stepped back in remorse. It sensed my fear like a dog digging for a bone. Harry smirked, inching closer to me. I stumbled behind again, until I could not move any further due to the small closet size.   
  
Harry moved closer.   
  
And closer.  
  
And closer.  
  
I could feel his hot breath against my face. He slammed his hands against my shoulders and pushed me hard against the cold wall. I want you, Malfoy. Oh god. I didn't even know boggarts could talk, but at the time, I had completely forgotten he was a boggart. Harry spoke again. I want you now. His lips curved, luring me in. I screamed, or, at least, I tried. Nothing came out.   
  
My voice trailed off, I turned my head away from Harry. I could still feel him panting against my neck, embarking on me. I couldn't stop him. I squirmed, but he had me trapped firmly beneath his hands.   
  
I've need to know what love is like, Malfoy, I need to find out. I'm hungry for you. He spoke readily as always. Harry seemed dignified like that.  
  
Can't you just eat a damn Snicker's Bar? I asked.   
  
But I want you. He drew his hips into mine, I could feel his snaking body movements, I could feel his throbbing hardness against me. I coughed and gagged, and tried to stifle my arousal, but I couldn't help it. I turned rock hard, too. For an instant, there was this electric buzz between us, it shocked my body in ecstasy. Harry and I had resolved our differences and now we were simply two pristine animals rigid against one another. You want me too, Malfoy. Shaking, I tried to say no. I tried to escape, but he persisted. He clawed ravenously at me, he moved his hands down my obliques and back up again. He drew his wet mouth to mine. His tongue was interlaced now. I forgot about any clashing between us, Quidditch, our house rivalry, the good and bad, it didn't matter. We linked together as one. His velvet red tongue swirled atop mine, massaging gently in passion.   
  
No, I had to end it. Shuttering, I remembered my wand and trusted my face away from his. __ With a crack, Harry's arms disappeared, and he romped around the closet like a decapitated chicken. Seeing my opportunity for freedom, I ran out of the closet and slammed the door. I fled as quickly as my feet could carry me, I could still hear the boggart rattling inside the closet.   
  
Waking up the net day, I figured it was all some twisted dream. I dressed myself as always, and went over to breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle. I passed by Potty, remarked about his fainting incident in a shaky voice, and went on with my meal. I'd never see Potty in the same way, dream or no dream. I guess he looks a little more appealing to me now. I'll just keep that little aside to myself and see where I end up. Goyle asked me, Where were you last night? I saw you leave the dorms.  
  
With a cough, I answered, I was screwing a boggart in a closet. Goyle laughed.   
  
Malfoy, you make some pretty sick jokes.   
  
end fic   
flee reader  
flee author  
  
J.J. the hinkypunk  
thinks odd thoughts  
  



	2. Back to the Closet

BFFF2

I did not have any plans to continue this, but it seems as if a sequel was wanted, and Rupert had an idea for a sequel, so there! A sequel. It's a messy, squicky, humor, slishy-sloshy-slashy thing.   
  
And thanks so very much to everyone who reviewed last time, you had me grinning like an idiot! g I appreciate it so very much. ^__^ And that's about as mushy and gushy as I'll get.   
  
Once again, slash lies ahead. SLASH. All righty, then?   
  
Note: Draco POV, takes place amidst the third book--after the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit. The author does not take responsibility for any side effects produced by this fic.  
  
Boggart Fantasies: Back to the Closet  
By J.J. the hinkypunk  
  
Goyle, you're just jealous because you've never screwed a boggart in a closet before, I smirked. I grabbed my first serving of waffles, smothered them in syrup, and topped it off with frog legs. Crabbe and Goyle looked at me.   
  
Well, it isn't everyday that we get the opportunity, you know. My boggart isn't drop dead sexy, you know, and I don't want to screw a werewolf, thank you very much, Goyle remarked. Crabbe laughed.  
  
Why not? It's the best you'll do! he said teasingly. Probably true, I noted.  
  
Shut up, crab-head. You won't do any better. Also true. I'd like to say I'm the most handsome of the Sytherins (much more so than Crabbe or Goyle), and I would, if I weren't such a sweet modest guy. Wait a minute, that didn't sound right. Yes, there's no question about it; I'm the most handsome Slytherin.  
  
Goyle stopped shoving food in his mouth. It looked as though he came upon some type of epiphany. What _is_ your boggart, Malfoy? I mean, you didn't get to fight it yesterday in class...  
  
I've never fought one before. I narrowed my eyes, trying not to blink. I had lying down to a science.   
  
Goyle looked surprised. He went on eating.  
  
Breakfast ended and we trotted merrily off. Grabbe and Goyle followed me to the dorms, nearly begging me to let them use my (not so) trusty Nimbus 2001. I'd let them touch it, at best. Then I started thinking about Quidditch. A smile crossed my face, I knew I'd beat Potty this year. I was going to be Slytherin's seeker again, and it'll be back to the way it was before--Slytherin will win the Quidditch Cup. That'll show Potty he doesn't own the place. I was twice the flier he was. I'd worked at it over the summer.   
  
Potty's face floated into my mind again. I could see his scrawny limbs around me, pinning me to the wall of the closet, telling me he wanted me. I shuddered momentarily. Last night had been disturbing. I'd rather not have thought about it, but I couldn't help it. There was something fishy going on. I checked my wristwatch. It informed me Potions began in twenty minutes.  
  
I told Crabbe and Goyle I'd be right back, that I had left my hat in the Great Hall and had to go get it. I stepped outside the Slytherin house, and stumbled upon Professor Flitwick, who had been humming in an extraordinarily high voice. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Malfoy. Say, you wouldn't happen to be going to the east wing, would you? he asked hastily. It seemed as if he were in a hurry. I thought for a moment. I was not really planning on going anywhere. I shrugged. Well, I'll award five points to Slytherin if you run an errand for me. I seem to have left a round, silver box in a small closet over there--in the east wing. You wouldn't mind bringing it back, would you? He didn't give me any time to answer before he said, Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, I'll keep that in mind for the future. He walked off and called over his shoulder, It shouldn't be too hard to find!  
  
I shuffled my feet on my way and realized Flitwick's box sounded familiar. Oh, damn. That must have been the box the boggart was in last night. Shrugging, I paced on over to the east wing and shifted my eyes around looking for the door of the closet. I wasn't really sure which one it was; I couldn't remember from last night since it had been pitch black in the corridor. I decided to pull out the wand, and muttered under my breath. I held my arm perpendicular to my body and let the wand guide me to the closet with the box and the boggart.  
  
I reached a small wooden door with a tarnished brass handle. I opened it and peeked in, trying to see if the boggart was still there--half of me hoped it wasn't, while the other half of me was curious, I couldn't understand why. The closet was dark and shadowed, but when I opened the door completely, the boggart had already shifted shape. I could hear Harry's soft breathing, and I could see his stickly body silhouetted beside a few musty broomsticks.   
  
I whispered, lighting the closet with my wand. My eyes traipsed over Harry. He looked the same as always, skinny underneath his massive robes, his black hair sprouting in all directions, those awful round glasses, that repulsive bile-like scar... he was poisonous like some rattlesnake, creeping at my feet. His thin lips twisted into an acute smile, and his crystal-green eyes lit with passion. I remembered to breathe finally, and inhaled his smell, it was the smell of Gryffindor, it was the smell of abhorrence, the smell I dreaded.  
  
No, take control, Malfoy. He's got muggle blood. Harry's no match for a pure-blood, he can't even compete with you. I tightened my grip on my wand and outstretched my hand, ready to stage a coup d'etat, repeating over and over in my head. Finish him now, I thought to myself.  
  
You came back for me, Malfoy. I told you you wanted me. Harry spoke, words erupting from his mouth as I watched intently.  
  
But... I... don't want you, okay? I braced myself, expecting him to attack me like last time, and shove me into the wall of the closet, engulfing me with a famished mouth. But he stayed back this time, taking a different, less direct approach.  
  
All right, suit yourself, Malfoy. What, you're too good for me? Is that it? I'd like to settle this in a Quidditch game, if you don't mind, he paused. Yes, you _are_ too good for me, aren't you? You, the arrogant Slytherin, with your hopes of becoming some dark wizard and ruling the world, and your hubris. You'll get yourself into a mess if you keep acting this way. You're too good for everyone, aren't you.   
  
I could feel his sharp eyes beating into mine now, burning through my befuddled face like a laser. He had me. Potty knew how to get inside someone, he really did. I remained nonchalant, or at least, I tried. I was _not_ too good for everyone. But I thought myself superior to Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He was already a brilliant wizard when he was a child, he was so revered by the magical community. There was something so different about him, he was a creature I did not know or comprehend. And there he was, right before me, full of desire.  
  
Honestly, I wanted him just as much.   
  
I would have had him, too. That stupid Mudblood had to ruin it, with her constant prying into other people's business. I didn't know it at the time, but she was walking around in the east wing's hallways after speaking the to the Muggle Studies professor about next year's course.  
  
I allowed Harry to emerge and sink into me. His warm hands wrapped around my waist, and his face inched towards mine. I shut my eyes and illustrated the oncoming kiss in my head in anticipation. We locked our lips together, our wild tongues mingled until I couldn't breath. But still the kiss lasted, suffocating both of us. I didn't care if I fainted, I didn't care if I died. Somewhere I lost control of my actions and all that was left of me was a body constructed of lean muscle that was being consumed by Harry. He slid his hands up my robes and peeled them open, gliding them down my chest, and swirling the tips of his fingers around one nipple. I knew you wanted me, Malfoy. He smiled, and I think I smiled back, I'm not sure. I was a goner.  
  
Footsteps. Someone opened the closet door. I jumped in horror. Suddenly, I saw Hermione Granger's face stick itself into the closet. Harry? Is that you? I thought I heard your voice. She proceeded further into the closet, when Harry was standing over me, ready to rip away my robes. I was so close.  
  
Damn her, damn her, damn her.  
  
In an instant, Harry wasn't kissing me anymore, he was gone. What I found was a very confused Professor McGonagall, who had her arms wrapped around me and her head turned in Hermione's direction. Oh, god, get off me! What the hell are you doing?! I tried to say, but, once again, I was speechless. I'd forgotten it was a boggart, and it had taken the shape of Hermione's greatest fear instead of mine. She shouted, Hermione, you've failed your finals! whilst her body was frozen, adjacent to me.  
  
Hermione blinked in absolute turmoil. She was wondering what McGonagall was doing on top of me, no doubt. Oh dear... she muttered, turning her head.  
  
A boggart, Mudblood, it's a boggart! I snarled. She whimpered before realizing that it was her turn to dispose of the boggart, and with a loud, , McGonagall started rolling on the floor in a fit of giggles.  
  
I left the closet in a haste, completely forgetting about Flitwick's box. Hermione followed at a distance, flashing odd looks at me every now and then.  
  
I checked my wristwatch once more; two minutes until Potions began. I slid into the dungeon and took my seat in between Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe looked at me with curiosity and asked, Where have you been, Malfoy?  
  
You know, the usual.  
  
Screwing a boggart in the closet? Goyle inferred. I shook my head.  
  
Nah, I've moved on from them. I was screwing Professor McGonagall, I retorted.  
  
With raised eyebrows, Crabbe and Goyle's eyes were glued to me.  
  
I repeat myself; you make some pretty sick jokes, Malfoy, Goyle sputtered with a laugh.  
  
Yes, I know. I grinned, but all through Potions Hermione Granger gaped at me in horror. However, I must admit, I was too busy shooting glances at the real Harry to care in the slightest.   
  
end fic  
  
Erm...  
  
J.J.  
hiding under a desk  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Reality

BFFF3

And now, the absolutely unplanned chapter three! It somehow managed to be completely different from the first two chapters, I'm really, really, really uncertain about this one.   
  
And thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! glomp It's your fault that this keeps going. I'm not really sure _where_ it is going, but it's going, just the same. But really, thank you so much everyone! I even got my very own flamey-poos! wields fire extinguisher   
  
Slash lies ahead. SLASH.   
  
Note: Draco POV, takes place amidst the third book--after the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit. The author does not take responsibility for any side effects produced by this fic.  
  
Boggart Fantasies: Reality  
By J.J. the hinkypunk   
  
I perked my ears up like some sort of cat. From across the room, I saw Hermione lean over to her left and whisper something in Harry's ear. It sounded strangely similar to, Malfoy is staring at you, Harry! He looks like he's checking you out or something. Hermione retreated and Harry raised an eyebrow. She nodded her ugly face--bushy hair swaying stiffly--as Harry turned his head in my direction. I shot my gaze the other way, you know, the thing that people do when they have been staring at someone... But he saw me. He looked away, annoyed, but skeptical at the same time. Why didn't I give him a nasty look? That's what I _would_ have done if it weren't for my stupid boggart. That creature messed up my mind.  
  
After that, Harry didn't glance back at me. I suppose he was trying to ignore me, and he probably thought I was simply attempting to make him uncomfortable. Snape broke my train of thought when he announced that the class would be working on a new potion today and Longbottom (whose name I knew only because of his amazing incompetence) shuddered, tipped over in his seat, and fell to the ground with a devastated plunking sound. The better half of the class laughed, with the exception of myself. I realized without realizing it that laughing at that brainless git was a waste of my time.  
  
My mind was somewhere else. This was the first time I ceased to pay attention in Potions (my favorite class), and it was all Harry's fault. I watched him get to work on his potion, he diligently cut a shrivelfig into perfectly even sections, his shoulder blades shifted beneath his black robes as his arms moved back and fourth, slicing off small bits at a time. It made me want to claw him from behind and dig my nails deeper and deeper into his back until ten long gashes were made and rivulets of blood trickled down his bony back. Then I'd extend my velvet tongue and slowly lick his crimson blood away, gliding my tongue up his smooth back and sweeping it over every section of skin, savoring the bittersweet salt of his flesh... I could almost taste him.  
  
Malfoy, you there? Goyle interrupted my phantasm. I blinked and nodded, still trying to hold on to the image in my head. He looked at me dumbfounded, with an off-color, flat potion boiling in his cauldron. I suspected it should have been blue rather then green, and bubbling copiously, rather then sitting perfectly still. Where did I go wrong? he asked. I honestly did not care. I ignored Goyle, who continued to look bewildered. It didn't matter, Snape would pass him anyway.  
  
The class was dismissed on the mark, and only three Gryffindor's received detention this time (a record). I was sad to see it end, I mean, where else would I have an unobstructed view of Harry? The boggart in the closet came to mind, once again. I could go there. Maybe this time, something would happen. Maybe Harry would really fuck me without that stupid Granger popping in and destroying my moment of glory.   
  
A smirk crossed my face. I started toward the east wing where I could find the closet with the boggart. I knew where it was by heart now, I'd been there twice already. I remember the first time--I had been flustered and disturbed, there's no other way to put it. But the second time, I came to my senses, and I'd realized that mortal enemies aren't so different in the end. Mortal enemies? Who was I kidding? Harry was a tiny little boy, an ant, a small annoyance I could squelch without effort. I was simply bigger then he, for one. So, why in the world was I afraid of him? I wasn't. Was I afraid of him kissing me? No, I liked it.  
  
I told myself to stop thinking so much. I was getting too philosophical for comfort. Just go to the damn closet, Malfoy, just let Harry consume you, I said to myself.  
  
A voice empowered behind me. I whirled around in curiosity. It was that moronic Mudblood Granger.  
  
Yes, sweetie? Is there something I can do for you? Oh, no, sorry, you're too pathetic and hopeless... I wondered what she was besetting me about now.  
  
I know where you're going, your boggart is Harry, isn't it, Malfoy? He's in that closet in the east wing, that's why I heard Harry's voice, and then McGonagall was there, she blurbed.  
  
Stay out of it, I retorted.  
  
Out of what? she pressed. I know all that I need to. You're scared out of your wits by Harry, and you know it. I think I'll go have a chat with him right now--regarding certain boggarts. No need to waste my time here. With that said, she strode in the other direction.  
  
I paced quickly to catch up with her. I was not about to let her tell Harry about my boggart. I wondered if she knew exactly what I had been doing with that boggart Judging by the look on her face, she must have had a vague idea that we'd been kissing. That would be the worse case scenario; she'd go tell Wesley and Harry that I was using a boggart to get to Harry Potter, who was incidentally my secret crush. Then Wesley would sputter and cackle and tell all of his fellow Gryffindors that story, and I'd have to lie and deny it. What a pain in the ass that would be.   
  
Wait, Granger! You have no idea what was happening in there, I wouldn't go around telling Harry anything, after his run in with those dementors, I'm not sure he can take this, I said askance.  
  
Take what? That you're scared of him? Malfoy, I'm sick of dealing with you. She stormed off, vowing not to speak to me. I shrugged. I didn't care--I had something to turn to. It was like some sort of drug, whenever I needed to, I could go down to the east wing broom closet and find a trusty old Harry-boggart, ready to screw me like there's no tomorrow.  
  
I was almost there, when I pondered the concept of this all being very odd. I didn't really want to be with a boggart... ugh... how piteous! Was I really so desperate as to getting Harry _that_ way? I'm a Malfoy. I had to uphold some type of honor to my name, surely. But on the other hand, honor could kiss my ass. Harry (the boggart) was damn sexy, he wanted me, I wanted him, why should I refuse?  
  
With a deep breath, I chose the latter. I grasped my steady fingers around the brass knob of the closet door, turned slowly, and opened it in silence, expecting to find my boggart awaiting my arrival.  
  
I looked around inside, trying to peel my eyes through the relentless dark of the closet. I whispered, a bright light danced at the tip of my wand. What I saw made me jump backwards, hit my head on the doorknob, and fall to the ground.   
  
My father was there, right before my eyes. He stood tall and dignified, dressed in the usual black, but wore an expression of amazing displeasure. His eyes flickered in a trance of anger. What was he doing here? He drew out his wand and pointed it steadily right towards my chest. His lips curled, he was raging with indignation. He was about to use the Cruciatus Curse on me, I could see it in his eyes. He always had that look when he was just about to perform a dark curse.  
  
Just a boggart... I reminded myself. _Ridikkulus, ridikkulus, ridikkulus_, just say it, Draco. My hands were shaking. He was angry at me. I immediately thought about Harry. He was pissed because he didn't want me to have any relations to Harry. That was probably it. I shouted. Crack! My father was wearing pink frills from head to toe, complete with those muggle socks that little girls often wear, with the lacy ruffles around the end and all. I have to admit, I smiled. No way would I ever see my real dad in such an attire. He set his wand down, and I snuck out of the closet, pleased to have dodged a curse, obviously.  
  
It made me think. Why was the boggart my father? I wanted it to be Harry. Well, there's your answer, Draco, I thought to myself. If I wanted it to be Harry, I couldn't have been afraid of him anymore. Damn it. The end of my boggart fantasies came. Things would go back to the way they were; I'd be able to make fun of Harry like always, and maybe my eyes wouldn't be so stuck on him during Potions class.  
  
I continued to walk along, thinking I'd go back to the Slytherin house and meet up with Crabbe and Goyle. I got to the common room and found them. Crabbe had a horribly concealed smile on his face, while Goyle maintained an apathetic, bewildered look. They both took on an awkward appearance.  
  
Hey, Malfoy, Crabbe grunted. You'll find something up in the dorms... a little gift, if I may say so. You'll like it. I raised an eyebrow. This seemed a bit fishy.   
  
Goyle added, You better like it, we had to go through hell for it. I mean, talking to those damn Mudbloods and all- Crabbe elbowed him, hinting that he had said too much. Goyle motioned for me to go upstairs to our dorms. With a shrug, I did, but just late enough to hear him murmur something to Crabbe.  
  
Always thought he was straight. Oh well, Lucius won't like it one bit, though.  
  
I slid the thick wooden door open and sauntered inside.  
  
And there he was. Sitting with crossed legs atop my bed, smiling. His black hair was like silk, shining and covering his distinct scar, his glasses rested upon his thin nose. Harry, what are you doing here? I demanded.  
  
I think we have something to discuss, Malfoy. I spoke with Hermione this morning, and she informed me of your little run in with the boggart. Apparently, it took the form of myself. Right?  
  
I mumbled. I didn't know what he was trying to get at here, but it couldn't have been a good thing.  
  
Of course. And what was boggart-Harry doing? He was kissing you? Is that your greatest fear, Malfoy? Because that is rather weak, he continued.  
  
No, actually, I liked it. I wanted you, I answered calmly. Maybe it would sound so far fetched that he wouldn't believe me.  
  
he jumped up from his relaxed sitting position. You wanted me? That's sick, Malfoy, really sick. I don't believe you. Harry sunk back down on the bed, thinking. Let's see how scared you really are. He stood up once again and pulled me in with his bony hands. He leaned in close to me. I didn't want to shut my eyes, this was too good to miss. I took in every detail of his face, every tiny mark on his skin, I could have counted each one of his eyelashes.  
  
And he kissed me. I felt his wet tongue sink into mine and massage slowly in a circular motion. His tongue slithered with warmth... There was something more alluring to the real Harry as opposed to the boggart; I could smell him. He reminded my of freshly cut lawns, trimmed beneath the Quidditch field and sunken in the lofty air, he reminded me of victory. I could sense our boundaries allay, we let go of rivalry and hatred. We weren't enemies. I felt as if I was being morphed and melded into one with him as our mouths continued to be locked together.   
  
A creepy sensation like a chill, maybe, ran through my bones and muscles. I couldn't see Harry's taunting face anymore. Visions flashed before me, first my father, standing like a statue of gold that hovers over the world. Then I noticed a sea of people at his feet, mocking me, laughing at me. Harry was by my side--they were Hogwarts students. They were laughing at us, perhaps because of homosexuality, perhaps because Harry was never made for me and I was not made for him. I couldn't go on, I couldn't allow him to kiss me like this.  
  
He ran his fingers up my chest, feeling every rib and grasping on momentarily to every muscle as if he wanted to tear my insides out. I tilted my head away hesitantly. Harry, this isn't right. Harry stepped back, his face still feverish, and like mine, glistening with a thin dew of sweat.  
  
I know. You're afraid of what others will think. I'm your greatest fear. How _scandalous_! he replied with a smile. I knew he was only doing this to experiment, per se. He wanted to see if I'd back out. He didn't really want me, he just wanted to show me how weak I could get.  
  
No, I'm not afraid Harry. I just can't do it. I looked back at him, my mouth wanton. I still needed him, but I just couldn't go through with anything.   
  
That's not what Hermione seemed to think. She convinced me to come up here, you know. As a joke. Oh well, I thought I'd get some laughs out of this one, but kissing you wasn't all too bad. Good breath. Nice hair, too. And your eyes, I once thought they were so dull, but I guess there's a little more to you then that. Well, I'll be leaving now, Malfoy. It's been fun. See you in potions?  
  
I watched him walk out of the room.  
  
end fic  
  
Yes, um, I want Harry to fuck Draco, too, but _they_ didn't want it yet. They said they were too young. Another day, maybe...   
  
flee author   
  
J.J.  
who is angry at this chapter, it didn't come out right  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. 

BFFF4

Hello! Chapter 4 here. I tried this one several times and decided not to post any version until it came out properly, hence the delay. It is set somewhere in the middle of their fifth year, otherwise it wouldn't have worked, it's one of those evil but necessary linking chapters. And, er, the title is not at all pertinent anymore, I got carried away. coughs But everything that happens has some purpose or another...   
  
Thanks so much to all the reviewers from last time. I love you. :-)  
  
Slash hints. Not too bad in this chapter, but, as always, don't like slash? Don't read.   
  
Note: Draco POV, takes place subsequent to the third book, the aftermath of the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit.   
  
Boggart Fantasies: Quidditch and Surfaced Rumors   
By: J.J. the hinkypunk  
_  
I watched him walk out of the room._  
  
From then on, Harry and I recovered our usual relationship--I went back to tormenting him about dementors and the like, while he ignored me, with his posse right behind his back. I was worried that things might have been a little awkward between us to say the least, but neither he nor I wanted to show any signs of caring. If anyone were to find out about us kissing, I'd be dead and he'd be dead, so we went along on our ways in denial. For all I knew, Ron Weasley would use my boggart as a blackmailing device. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure he was in on the whole thing; it was between Crabbe, Goyle, Hermione, Harry, and me. The Slytherins outnumbered Gryffindor in this case, so I suppose we didn't have anything to worry about. Besides, Crabbe alone looked more than twice Harry and Hermione's added size. I had protection.  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts went well--in other words--we didn't have to fight a boggart again. It could have been a mess. I remember thinking, Hm, will my boggart be Father, Harry, or McGonagall? It was quite a frightening thought, and I prayed that professor Lupin would not force our class to practice against boggarts another time. Alas, he didn't. Rather, we moved on to the study of banshees (how absolutely boring).   
  
Potions was going well also, which doesn't come as a shock. Gryffindor was working for the world's record in points subtracted, while Harry was doing all the hard work for me (it wasn't _my_ fault that stupid hippogriff annihilated my right arm). As a matter of fact, third year as a whole was going along smoothly. I couldn't have asked for more, perhaps with the exception of a Firebolt broomstick. Father kept telling me that my current broom was just fine, and that if I was a good enough flier, I'd pummel Gryffindor anyway. I wanted to beat them too, but in my fourth year they revived the old Triwizard Tournament instead of Quidditch, you know the deal...  
  
Problems didn't arise until my fifth year at Hogwarts. By this time, Harry's fame exploded beyond all expectations, first the whole Voldemort incident, then the Voldemort incident again, then he won the tournament, and faced Voldemort once again. I wasn't sure as to how I should react--I wanted to show some superiority and kick his ass, but at the same time, I wanted to shout out, I kissed him! I kissed Harry Potter!  
  
I never even had to do that. Apparently, since Weasley and Harry were best friends, Harry _had_ told Weasley every detail. He informed him on my adventures in the old broom closet in the east wing, and my (horny) boggart. Weasley was able to retain the information he had for a few years, but nobody can keep a secret for very long...  
  
It was Quidditch season at Hogwarts, Slytherin was at it's strongest. We'd nearly worked ourselves to death practicing new tactics and strategies. I was made captain. On this occasion, Father bought me a new Firebolt Platinum (the newest technology in broomsticks at the time). He was quite threatening, though. He fully expected Slytherin to take the Quidditch Cup this year, and because Harry's broomstick was _merely_ a Firebolt, he anticipated my triumph over the oh-so-amazing seeker. Ron Weasley was on the Gryffindor team as Keeper this year. What a laugh. I suspected a team full of Weasleys couldn't do too well, but then again, Harry was a stud at seeker.   
  
In the final match of the season, Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied in the lead. The Quidditch Cup could go either way at that point--it was all dependent upon our last match. I relished in that sense of anticipation and thrill, the feeling that shoots through my limbs before a Quidditch match, especially a match of such importance. Nevertheless, my palms were sweating waterfalls, honestly. Last time, Harry had come up with an amazing save in the Quidditch final and ended up winning it for Gryffindor. I couldn't let him do it again.  
  
Our team was dressed in brand new green Slytherin robes adorned by the silver serpent. We stood tall with our noses in the air as we stampeded out onto the Quidditch field. All of Hogwarts seemed to be watching intently from the stands, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams both jealous--because they were losers--and cheering madly for Gryffindor (Hufflepuff wasn't too happy when one of our beaters nearly killed their seeker by whacking him with a Bludger for fun). I could pick out Professor Snape, who sat down and had a certain inquiring look in his face. He was really in need of a Slytherin victory this year and he made sure that I knew it. Over the announcements, Lee Jordan called, Here comes Slytherin, lead by Captain Malfoy. I think he tried to stifle a sickly gag. The Slytherin side of the stadium erupted into applauds, waving green and silver flags in passion. I was beaming. My name sounded wonderful after the word .  
  
The Gryffindor team soon pooled onto the field clutching their broomsticks with smoldering fists. And the Gryffindor team! Potter, Bell, Spinnet, Johnson, Weasley, Weasley, and Weasley! yelled Lee. The rest of Hogwarts flared with rabid cheering.   
  
And Madam Hooch started the game at once, otherwise, I'm sure some of the looks from the Gryffindor players would have burned holes in my skull. I guess they really wanted to win. Harry looked at me, vile. I smiled mockingly, and raised my Firebolt Platinum up for all to see. After all, he only had the old version, and he'd find out shortly that it might be lethal to his game. The Firebolt Platinum was a damn good prototype (it wasn't even available to the public yet; my father had connections and was able to snag me one). It moved as if it were a wisp of air, a breath of wind, rather than a broomstick, and it never shifted direction at my touch--it seemed to obey my thoughts. It was inspiringly fast. I often wondered if, at full speed, the rider was a complete blur to a spectator. Harry looked back at me glumly, as if he wanted to say, Yeah, my broom isn't as good as yours, but you'll still loose anyway. And if you don't, you'll still have to live with that ugly face of yours, Malfoy. I could picture him saying just that. I thought back to the day he wanted me, when he was the boggart, and wondered how things could be so different.  
  
Mount your brooms. Three... two... one, Madam Hooch shouted and her whistle rung through our ears, arousing excitement that only Quidditch can generate. Fourteen bodies darted into the air and began their conquest. The various balls were released. Montague, one of our Chasers seized the Quaffle as I floated overhead, following Harry. The only thing in my head at the moment was to find the Snitch. I had to get to it first. From a distance, I could just make out Montague scoring, already, and the Slytherin crowd exploding in animated shouts of excitement. OH NO! Ten-nothing Slytherin. Don't worry, Gryffindor'll catch up! Lee Jordan exclaimed. I smiled and looked on for the Snitch.   
  
Harry muttered, Oh, poor Ron. He was just learning skills as a Keeper, and I guess he simply wasn't good enough. Snitch, Snitch, Snitch, damn it Malfoy, find the Snitch, I kept telling myself. Harry didn't seem to be have any luck either--he sat calmly on his broomstick suspended directly over the center of the field. He didn't even look worried, and here I was, nervous as hell and stomach churning and lurching.   
  
Through the course of the game, both he and I did a lot of sitting around. The Snitch seemed to have run away. Below us the score was tied fifty to fifty and Gryffindor was taking a beating, though the score did not indicate it. Cheaters always come out ahead.  
  
Then, right on cue, Bole, one of our Beaters took a swing at a Bludger. This was meant to his Harry right in the head; we'd practiced this over and over again in the training season. Wham! With a cracking sound, the Bludger thunked right on Harry's skull. It looked like it hurt like a mother... I felt bad for the guy... No! Find the Snitch, Malfoy!  
  
Harry let go of his broom and started falling to the ground, much like the time when he'd fallen in his second year. The Bludger had knocked him out. He landed on the ground with a thud. His body looked limp, I couldn't really tell since I was still up in the air. The crowd gasped. I looked around frantically for the Snitch. I had to get it...  
  
THAT WAS ON PURPOSE! THROW BOLE OUT OF THE GAME! HE TRIED TO KILL HARRY! Lee shrieked.  
  
Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Damn it, I was supposed to find the Snitch before she called of the match or anything of that sort.  
  
Teachers rushed onto the field and huddled over. I guided my broomstick downwards to see if anything interesting was happening. Madam Hooch stood over Harry, who had apparently awoken. He looked rather dizzy and a purple, swelling lump blossomed from his forehead (it complimented his scar perfectly). He was led to the hospital wing by a furious Professor McGonagall. He looked as if he were drunk, he couldn't walk straight. Must've had a concussion.   
  
Madam Hooch called the players of both teams towards her and announced that the game would be postponed until Gryffindor's full lineup was available to play. With groans, the stadium emptied out. Bole murmured under his breath, I knew that maneuver wouldn't work. Too cliché.  
  
That night, I planned to go see what Harry was up to in the hospital wing. I was on my way over when I ran into Ron Weasley, who looked utterly pissed off. I can imagine why. Malfoy, this has gone too far. By the way, I think you'll find it nice to know that I have enlightened people about a certain incident of your past that you probably wanted to keep hidden. I raised an eyebrow and continued on.  
  
At first I thought he was speaking of my first pair of handcuffs and leather pants, but that wouldn't make any sense. Shrugging, I continued.  
  
For some reason, I ran into Neville Longbottom. When he saw me, he started laughing maniacally. I pulled out my wand and pointed it at him. Got anything to say to me, Longbottom? He stopped laughing.  
  
No sir. He looked scared. He must have changed his mind at some point, because he added, I can believe you screw boggarts in your spare time. That's pretty sad.  
  
I don't screw boggarts! Who told you that? I inquired.  
  
R-ron did.  
  
Oh. The Weasel, eh?  
  
Isn't it true? In your third year, _Harry_ was your boggart, and he was going to _screw_ you. It's true, isn't it, he looked at me earnestly.  
  
Yes, actually. It was, er, pretty steamy. You should try it some time. He was about to laugh again.  
  
I can't. I don't want to fuck my grandmother.  
  
Why not? She's damn sexy, right? He looked terrified. No? Fine, she's all mine. See you around, Longbottom. And do tell everyone about my boggart, will you? And say that the real Harry kissed me shortly afterwards.  
  
He blinked, bewildered, and scampered off. The lesson? Sometimes it's just fun to play around with rumors. Can't take them too seriously.  
  
Now, it was time to go see Harry. You know, offer him some _comfort._ After all, he looked quite handsome in spite of an ugly scar and a bulging bruise.   
  
end fic  
  
More coming soon to a computer near you. So there. :p   
  
J.J.  
promises there will be more boggarts in the next chapter  
  



	5. The Deal

BFFF5

Hi! Next chapter, last chapter. It took a while, to say the least... Draco and Harry will be snogging and stuff.   
  
Slash lies ahead. SLASH. Major, major SLASH to make up for chapter 4's lack. Don't like slash, don't read. Easy enough, eh?   
  
Note: Draco POV, takes place subsequent to the third book, the aftermath of the Slytherins' first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is being used without permission, but not for profit.   
  
Boggart Fantasies: The Deal  
By: J.J. the hinkypunk  
  
I wondered how I was about to get into the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey scampering about. She was horribly stiff and I'd be the last person she'd let in. You'd think Harry was dying or something, she always makes such a fuss. I heard a rustling from inside the wing. The door opened with a creak, and Madam Pomfrey pranced out. Hello, Malfoy. No visitors at this hour, sorry. She walked past me in a hurry, not bothering to make sure I kept out of the hospital wing. When she was clearly out of sight, I latched my hand on to the old doorknob, turned slowly, and approached the inside of the hospital wing.  
  
One light was on behind a curtained bed. I asked. I had to make sure it was him.  
  
Malfoy, get out! I have a throbbing headache already! It doesn't need to be worsened, thanks. He groaned through the curtain.  
  
I was just coming in to see if you're all right. So, does your head still work? Seeing stars? I smiled, but then became dissatisfied. I'd come to see him because I had this strange feeling that I wanted him again, and that I had to have him. But why did I always have to choose the wrong pick up line? Can I come in? He groaned once more.  
  
If that'll get rid of you for good, fine. I opened the curtain to his section of the hospital wing. He looked horribly tired and sat propped up on a few pillows with an ice pack (the kind that don't make a person sopping wet like those damn muggle ice packs do) on his head.   
  
How long is Pomfrey keeping you in here? I asked.  
  
I'm out tomorrow. The match will be rescheduled for Monday. I nodded. Silenced passed though us, allowing me time to gather concentration and nerve to say what I really wanted to say.  
  
Remember the boggart in our third year? And how you came up to my dorm?  
  
What are you talking about, Malfoy? He gazed at me. Thinking for a moment, he added, My brain isn't working properly at the moment, give me a minute... oh, you mean when _I _was the shape of your boggart, er, when your boggart was me, rather?  
  
Yes, that. Well, I was remembering it, and I began to wonder, what would happen if I had gone through with it, I blabbered.  
  
Er, we would have kissed for a few more seconds, laughed about it, and never spoke a word of it, he answered. Which is basically what happened...  
  
More silence swept through us. It was almost shatteringly cold. I fumbled through my head to find words, but nothing came to me. After several minutes and probably after going a little bonkers, I blurted out, Harry? Are you a virgin? He shot the dirtiest of looks in my direction.   
  
What kind of question is that, Malfoy? Why does it matter to you? he responded, only a _tad_ irked.  
  
Ah, so you are, then. Anyone who is not would say so instantly. He scrunched his face as I grinned in triumph. He hated my being correct more than anything. Poor little Potter, the virgin.  
  
GET OUT, MALFOY! he shouted. He sunk deeper into his pillows, seemingly relaxed. Harry was gaping at me, as if he hoped to coerce me out of the room with a forceful glare. I sulked.  
  
But I've got nowhere to go. I sat there. More silence.  
  
Well, are _you_ a virgin? Ha. Inquiring minds have to know, I suppose. I thought about Harry's question. Should I lie or abide by the lovely policy of truth?   
  
Er, well, erk... oh dear... technically, ahem... er, yes. I coughed this up as quickly as I could. I had chosen to go along with the truth of things--something I was horribly unaccustomed to. I was probably foaming at the mouth because of it...  
  
Really? You? No kidding. I'd've been shocked to death if _you_ actually got some. He laughed.  
  
Now it was my turn to shoot dirty looks. Hell, Draco Malfoy could get anyone. Except for Harry Potter. I had to get him, something was itching me inside. I don't know why, it was just this random feeling, I suppose. Maybe it was because of his ever growing legend--a legend of the caliber that I desired--or maybe it was because I was curious. You know, gotta have sex with someone at some given time, and it felt like the time. I pondered ways to snag myself a Harry, couldn't use a boggart again, or could I? Yes, wow, that's what I would do. What a plan, I told myself, what a plan.  
  
Harry, you want to have sex, right? I asked.  
  
Er, sure. It looks... nice. He laughed.   
  
Fuck me.  
  
You? No. I'm into Cho, you know. We've been dating for a month or so now. I can't do that to her. Not to mention, I don't like you. More awkward silence.  
  
Cho? The Ravenclaw girl? She's all right. Nothing compared to me, though. See this sexy ass? I turned around jokingly and showed it off. He sniggered. I knew he liked it, there was some yearning in his voice, masked by amusement.  
  
Yes, I admit, your ass is as pretty as a picture, he said, after sobering up.  
  
So let's fuck. Just for the hell of it. Because I'm hot and you're hot, and it would just be, you know, hot.  
  
Harry was about to refuse the offer when he caught himself and contemplated some more. Well, I would, under one condition.  
  
  
  
You're boggart is me, right? I wouldn't mind grabbing a few of my friends, taking them down to a boggart, and watch you snog. It'd be great, actually.  
  
You really want to see yourself from a third person's point of view, kissing me?  
  
Yeah. Are you kidding me? I'd make pop-corn.  
  
  
  
  
  
Oh, that muggle food. I've seen it before...  
  
Do we have a deal, Malfoy?  
  
Did I really want to do this? Hm, I thought. All in all, yes, I wanted to.   
  
All right, tomorrow, midnight, find a boggart tonight and meet me then at the Owlery. I nodded, it sounded great. All I had to do was kiss boggart Harry, then I'd be kissing real Harry. Nice. Or so I thought. Finding the boggart was a lot tougher than I had imagined. I used the incantation, but it lead me nowhere. Wonderful. I'd just have to tell Harry that, at present, there were no boggarts in the castle. But then he might bail on me. Perhaps I could switch the deal around a bit so that we fuck first, then he'll watch me with the boggart. It was worth a shot, I had nothing to loose.   
  
The next day dragged on until evening was approaching and the sky faded from a shade of baby blue to a shadowed magenta and finally a misty black. I watched the hands on my watch carefully awaiting midnight. Crabbe and Goyle had no idea I was doing this, I'm sure they would not have been able to contain their laughter if they did.  
  
The road to the Owlery was not much of an adventure, it was as if all of Hogwarts had been frozen over in time so that I had a clear path to Harry. Maybe it was so, but I'm sure it was only because my mind was on other things; I couldn't have cared less if Peeves was behind the bend or Mrs. Norris was lurking in the crevice behind a door. Nothing could stop me now.   
  
I entered in silence. Harry was already there, toying mindlessly with his owl (which was much uglier than mine, I might add). Well, I do hope you've found a boggart so that I can watch you, er, kiss, he said, tentatively. I shrugged. There wasn't much I could do, there didn't seem to be any boggarts around.  
  
Sorry. Fuck me anyway? He paused to think about it.  
  
All right. He smiled. It got me a bit nervous, if you want to know the truth. Why would he just agree like that? It was really weird... Nevertheless, I wasn't about to argue. I wanted him, my stomach was nearly growling of hunger. It felt strange, as if I could feel him throbbing inside me, he was hot, burning... oh I had to have him now. I needed to have his scrawny arms around me, I needed to feel his plush lips against mine, his tongue drifting over my entire body piece by piece.  
  
His tapered fingers knowingly undid my robes. He never made a sound when he peeled them off my clammy skin and let them fall to the floor, forgotten. No undergarments--an element of me that Harry thoroughly enjoyed. He laughed in amusement and slowly ran his fingers over my chest as if he wanted to feel every part of my torso and memorize its shape. His eyes flickered wildly beneath his glasses, they paused on my rigid hardness and his hands drifted down to my hips, daring to make their way to my arousal...  
  
Take me, Harry, I murmured, kissing his throat. He chuckled indignantly.  
  
Sure about that, Malfoy? I'm not a pure-blood, you know. Wouldn't it pollute you or something?  
  
Damn you, Potter. I want you, please. No, Malfoy, don't beg, don't beg. Stay in control, don't shatter... But I shattered like glass in burning weather. His strangely cognizant hand moved to the tip of my erection and stroked back and fourth rhythmically. I caved in, every muscle in my body clenched and tightened, twitching uncontrollably.  
  
Then it all made sense. Why he was so willing to screw me, why he seemed like a pro when he was supposed to have been a virgin. His face began to change, the scar faded first. His shining black hair lightened, it was... red. Freckles came next, his height changed (he grew taller), and his lanky limbs became thicker and stronger.  
  
Why are you looking at me like that, Malfoy? he inquired. Oh shit. My time's up, isn't it? Standing before me was George Weasley. It was repulsive. Polyjuice Potion. Nice touch, don't you think? He laughed maniacally.  
  
And that was that. Every time, from then on, I passed the Gryffindor table with a lowered head. I couldn't make eye contact with them, they'd laugh. George especially. He had had amazing fun. I suppose I had, too, albeit _before_ I had known he wasn't Harry. Well, I'll take Harry anywhere I can get him, you know? He's pretty sexy. Well, move on, Malfoy, I told myself, it's not going to happen. And besides, he started dating some Ravenclaw the next year, I didn't want to barge in on them or anything. I won't go near boggarts anymore, however. I'll never forget how depraved they can make a person. You'd never believe it, would you?  
  
end fic  
  
And that, my friends, is all. :)   
  
J.J.  
all finished  
  
  



End file.
